


Codeine

by cedarmoons



Series: Setting Fires [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cock Rings, F/M, Jim Ruins Everyone's Day (Including His Own), Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sub Solas, mild exhibitionism, this is 7.5k of smut and i have no regrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 15:53:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7898734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedarmoons/pseuds/cedarmoons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Let none say seduction wasn't one of her strengths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Codeine

**Author's Note:**

> written for sub solas week, run by submissivesolas over on tumblr. i am a slut for sub solas, as those of you who’ve read my solas porn have probably realized, lol. this is **very nsfw** and features the same couple as the [punch drunk kiss](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4926637) and [addiction](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5180789) oneshots, but for maximum humor, this is set after punch drunk kiss but before addiction. if any of you are interested, [this](http://www.glamadelaide.com.au/main/wp-content/uploads/2016/08/Look-Book-Paolo-Sebastian-Gilded-Wings-AW16-17-3.jpg) is the dress i used for evelyn. many thanks to musicalheart168 for her beta'ing!! :)
> 
> if anyone is interested, my tumblr can be found [here](http://cedarmoons.tumblr.com/). :)

Evelyn doesn’t _try_ to give Josephine heart attacks based on her fashion choices on a weekly basis, honestly. At this very moment, she has no doubt that the ambassador is buttering up the Madame de Fer’s guests, portraying the Inquisition as a force of good, and its Inquisitor a woman of values.

Not that Evelyn _isn’t_ a woman of values. It’s just that Ferelden dignitaries at Skyhold are inclined to disagree because she likes dresses that show more skin than they cover. But Fereldens wear winter drapes and carpets for clothes. 

In Evelyn’s humble opinion, they hardly have room to judge _anyone’s_ fashion choices.

There are more modest dresses than this. But the guests in the Great Hall are Orlesian, the Madame’s contacts and allies, curious to see this Inquisitor for themselves before her appearance at the Winter Palace. It would be wise to have allies before walking into the viper pit, and Orlesians always enjoy a good seduction.

Evelyn thinks of Solas, and her painted lips curve.

Let none say seduction wasn’t one of her strengths.

Some of the Inquisition’s best are in the Great Hall for the soirée; Varric to charm the Orlesians, Solas to show his frescoes to the scholars, and Cullen to look pretty—and talk with the handful of generals the Madame has invited.

Sera has been banned to the tavern, a confinement which she has all too happily embraced. Blackwall, Dorian, Cassandra, and Bull have all joined her in self-exile, which suits Evelyn just fine.

She teases her hair into a gentle curl, adjusts the neckline to ensure her breasts won’t tumble out at a wrong movement, and winks at her reflection in the looking glass. “Go get ‘em, babe,” she tells her reflection, then turns on her heel and makes her way to the Great Hall.

She hears the violin music before she enters the nave. A guard opens the door for her, and as she emerges, the Orlesian guests stall their conversations and turn to get a glimpse of the Inquisitor. Evelyn steps into the candlelight, knowing what they will see; a woman in a semi-sheer golden dress, glittering in the candlelight from the beaded bronze embroidery which barely conceals the lush curves of her body, gleaming from the cloth-of-gold strips which accentuate her hips. The neckline is a deep plunge which ends just above her navel, displaying the swells of her breasts and her clavicles.

She watches more than a few eyes darken behind elaborate masks, and allows her lips to curve in a small smile. Her father’s words come to mind, as she glides across the floor to speak with Cullen, who has found refuge hiding in the shadows of a lion statue. _Seduce them. Play with them. Make sure you know what they want, my dearest, and use that to accomplish your own goals._

She puts a hand on Cullen’s arm. She kisses Dorian’s cheek, and laughs at his jokes. She listens to the whispers of Orlesians behind their gloved hands, as she seduces and charms and, every so often, sends dark-eyed looks toward Solas.

He is watching her, one hand clasped behind his back, and the other holding a wine glass with more poise than befits a lifelong apostate. He is doing an admirable job of holding conversation with the scholars, even when she sends a caress of magic across his skin as she passes behind him.

The night goes on. She secures several promises of gold, men, resources, and food for the refugees fleeing the Freemen in the Emerald Graves. She makes a young countess stutter over her words, and blush so hard the woman’s unconcealed neck flushes a pretty shade of pink. And every time she so much as spots Solas out of the corner of her eye, she caresses him with a tantalizing stroke of magic. She teases him from afar, and delights in how his eyes darken every time he looks at her.

She almost goes to him, once, to see how he would react to a physical touch—and to greet the academics, of course. But Jim intervenes.

As Jim is wont to do.

“So sorry to interrupt, Your Worship,” he says, holding a parchment to her. “The Lady Nightingale recently got word about your family members—they’ve agreed to stop using the Inquisition for their own ends. But there is a dispute in Ostwick they want—”

“Jim,” she interrupts, not unkindly, and hands the parchment back. “I’m afraid I am a bit busy at the moment. I appreciate you coming to me, but perhaps we could discuss this later? I’ll be in my rooms after the soirée—could you talk to me then?”

Jim clears his throat, glances around, and ducks his head in a quick acknowledgement. “Enjoy your evening, Your Worship,” he says. With a final salute, he leaves. Cullen calls him over, and uses the scout’s presence as an excuse to escape the party, leaving a throng of disappointed admirers in his wake.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Solas excuse himself, and disappear in the stairwell which leads to the Madame’s balcony. The rotunda isn’t blocked off, so he isn’t taking an alternate route.

Hm.

She gives him ten minutes—she is drawn into an unexpected debate on the physics of the Fade, which, of course, is a conversation Solas would have excelled at. Alas, she is a politician first and scholar absolutely never, so she concedes the argument with a graceful smile, and feigns lightheadedness.

“Are you well, Inquisitor?” one of the academics—Professeur de Something—asks.

“Quite, monsieur, thank you,” she says. “I fear I just need some air. I will return in a short while.”

She curtseys once, and goes into the stairwell after Solas.

She is halfway up when she sees him, standing on a platform. The stairwell originally had two destinations, but the second has disappeared to time—the former hallway leads to nowhere, now. “Fancy seeing you here,” she says.

Solas shakes his head, a smile tugging at his mouth, and pulls her into the shadows, hands curving around her hips to clutch at her ass. His mouth seals over hers, hot and wanting, and Evelyn cannot stop her moan as her fingers curl into his tunic—the nicest he’d had, a deep blue that complements his eyes.

And it isn’t even frayed. Josephine had been thrilled.

When the kiss breaks, Evelyn grins at him, wickedly unrepentant. “Like the dress?” she purrs, her hand snaking down his abdomen—relishing every twitch of his body at her touch—to settle on the jut of his hipbone. He is hard enough that she can feel him straining against his trousers, even though she isn’t actually touching him.

“Quite,” Solas says. He turns them, backing her up against the wall. Normally, she wouldn’t protest—but this wall is _thin_ , and if he makes her come, everyone in the Great Hall could hear her scream his name. Evelyn enjoys scandals, but not ones which concerned her. One wrong sound could undo everything she’d accomplished over the course of the night.

And besides, she’s undoubtedly given poor Josie a headache—no need to be cruel and make it a migraine.

So instead of allowing him to press closer, Evelyn laughs, once, and kisses him, licking at his lips until his mouth opens and she can taste the wine he’s had. Solas moans, tilting his head for a better angle, and she strikes.

She settles her hands against his shoulders and pushes, hard enough to break the kiss, to make him stumble back one step. Confusion settles over his expression, until she flips their positions and has him against the wall—once he realizes her intent, his breath hitches and his pupils dilate, and he goes pliant against the stone.

Oh. That’s—interesting.

Evelyn rises to the balls of her feet and nips at a sensitive spot on his throat. Solas’s hands settle on her hips and he lets out a small huff—a short, heavy pant that betrays his desire. His hips press against her, but she pulls her own back, and Solas stifles a whine at the loss of contact.

“Quiet,” she whispers, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across the line of his jaw. Her free hand snakes down to cup his arousal through his leggings. “Or our guests will hear you.”

In the heartbeat of silence that follows, his cock twitches in her palm, and Solas bites his lip to stifle his moan. The sound of it—low, full of lust—thrills through her, and she feels her own wetness gather between her legs. Fuck, but she wants to hear him make that sound again. She plants an open-mouthed kiss against his pulse and cups him through his leggings. Solas’s breathing quickens, and he closes his eyes when his hips twitch in an aborted thrust.

Evelyn smiles against a sensitive patch of skin underneath his jaw, her alternate hand coming up to cup the back of his neck. “Do you _want_ them to hear you?” she rasps. His cock _throbs_ in her hand, and a small, helpless sound she has never heard before escapes from between his teeth. Evelyn’s eyes widen for a moment, before she grins. “Oh, Solas. You _do_.”

His cheeks flush in the torchlight, his blush traveling down his throat as he squeezes his eyes shut. He is so fucking beautiful it hurts. “It is—” Solas gasps as she gets her hand down his leathers. He shudders as she tugs down his foreskin, gathers his precome on her fingers and begins to rub a slow, measured circle under the flared tip of him. “It is—a terrible vestige from my youth. The thought of discovery, not the act itself.”

“Hm.” Evelyn maintains her grip and her pace, leaning forward so her nose brushes against his temple. She doesn’t really like the idea of sharing him, but using this knowledge for dirty talk? Easy. “I think I’ll make you beg, tonight. Get you so close you shake with your need to come, but you can’t, not until I say you can. What do you say?”

Solas’s moan is _lewd_ , loud enough that she hears a faint conversation on the other side of the wall stop. She presses her free hand against his mouth, and he closes his eyes, bucking into her hand. She pulls her hand back; Solas rests his head against the stone, closing his eyes as she caresses him, and the column of his neck is too tempting not to pepper with biting kisses.

“What do you say?” she purrs against his skin, biting down gently. Solas’s breath is ragged, and he is tense beneath her, strung almost too tight. “Should I make you beg tonight?”

“You can try,” he rasps. She summons a gentle electricity, vibrating through her fingers, and strokes him from root to tip. Solas gasps, shuddering, and she feels him tense in anticipation of orgasm.

“No,” she says, and releases him, her hand pulling away from his cock but staying inside his breeches. Solas bucks into the air, but she denies him even the friction of his leggings. He shudders, locking his teeth but unable to stop his obscene moan. Evelyn leans closer, pressing her breasts against his chest and doing her best to ignore the clench of want in her core. “I said you couldn’t come yet.”

Solas shudders again, eyes snapping open, and he nods, threading his fingers through her hair. He does not say _please_ , which she expects, but—“I know,” he says, instead. Evelyn’s brows go up, and then she smiles.

“How long will you hold out?” she asks.

Solas chuckles. She withdraws her hand, _accidentally_ brushing it against his length, and he hisses at the contact. “We shall see.”

She cups the back of his neck, pulls him down and kisses him until his breaths come ragged, until his lips are red and shining, until his eyes are black with desire. Only then does she break the kiss, and even then her hands are on his chest. “Come to my room after the soirée,” she pleads, breathless. “I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.”

His eyes darken, and he cups the back of her neck, sealing his mouth over hers, moaning when she tastes him. “Until then,” he says, voice breathy—enough so that a visceral bolt of pride thrills through her, but her smugness is silenced by the lust in his gaze.

Her cunt throbs. “Until then,” she says, and they part ways. Fuck, but her smalls are soaked through, enough to make it uncomfortable. She’ll have to keep her legs clamped shut for the rest of the night, make sure no one can smell her arousal.

Only Solas will get that privilege, tonight.

Despite her desire to call it an early night and lead Solas upstairs, she returns to the soirée and cajoles a few more beneficial alliances out of the Inquisition’s esteemed guests. Josephine is thrilled with the events at the conclusion of the evening, unable to stop her smile when Evelyn joins her. Evelyn winds an arm through the crook of Josie’s elbow and keeps her gaze ahead. “You sure you’ll be all right getting them settled for the night?” Evelyn asks.

Josephine clears her throat. “Quite certain, Inquisitor,” she assures, with a small smile. “You were splendid tonight. Though I would prefer—input on your wardrobe, in the future.”

Evelyn tosses her head back, laughing brightly, knowing that the sound will carry and draw all eyes to her. She turns her head toward Josephine, lowering her voice and staring at the woman through her lashes. “What’s wrong with my dress, sweet Josie?” she asks, with a coquettish smile.

Josie is smiling, despite the blush reddening her cheeks. She ignores the whispers which begin to spread through the hall. “I believe you have had too much to drink, Evie,” she says, voice light and teasing. She squeezes Evelyn’s hand and disentangles. “I will see you in the morning, my friend. Sleep well.”

It is a dismissal, and a rather blatant one at that, but Evelyn is so grateful she could kiss her. Instead she makes her way to the corridor which leads to her suite, stopping when she reaches the door. She turns around to curtsey once more to the watching Orlesians, then opens the door and slips inside the hall.

She can’t get to her rooms fast enough.

When she does enter her suite, Solas is already undressing. He’s started the fire, and the hearthlight shines upon the broadness of his back and shoulders. Her mouth goes dry at the sight, and she settles against the staircase banister, enjoying the view of his muscles moving under his skin as he folds his shirt.

He does not acknowledge her until the shirt is draped across the trunk at the foot of her bed. At last, he shifts his weight, his head turning so he can regard her out of the corner of his eye. “I trust you are enjoying the view.”

Evelyn smirks. “Oh, very much.” He turns around, and sees her glittering in the firelight. His breath catches, and as his gaze roams her body, his eyes darken to near-black. Evelyn raises her arms, the gaping sleeves of her dress falling to her shoulders, and her smirk shifts into a grin. “Are you?”

“Indeed.” Solas takes a step toward her, then catches himself, his hands fisting by his sides.

“Would you like to take this off of me?” she asks, her right hand teasing down her throat and across her collarbone. Her left hand rubbed circles just above her navel, at the place where her plunging neckline ends. Solas watches the movement, his gaze deliberately moving up her body, and when their gazes meet he nods.

“If I may,” he says. Evelyn enjoys the sweetness of her surrender to her partner in sex, relishes it, even, but—there is something to be said for those days where he cedes control. There is something to be said for the knowledge that he trusts her implicitly, trusts her enough to be comfortable when at her mercy.

They are rare, those days, but they make her heart flutter. Tonight is no different.

Evelyn smiles, warm and genuine. She saunters toward him, slow and teasing, her fingertips dancing over her exposed skin. She stops an arm’s length from him and lowers her hands, her smile widening. “Well. Since you asked so sweetly.”

Solas’s inhale is soft, controlled, and his palms are steady as he flattens them over her sternum. Evelyn keeps her gaze on his face, watching every twitch of his jaw and flicker of his eyelashes as he explores her bare skin. He lifts his gaze to her face as his fingertips toy with the edges of her sleeves, thumbs brushing over her collarbones. “You enchanted them,” he says, slowly slipping the sleeves down the curve of her shoulder. “None could look away from you. How could they?”

Evelyn arches her back, closing her eyes at the silken feel of Solas’s skin on hers. Gooseflesh ripples down her arms. “Enchanting, you say? How so? Tell me more.”

“I think,” Solas says, not acknowledging her blatant request for flattery, “that you have turned your magical studies to a more—amorous focus, rather than a martial one.”

Evelyn grins, opening her eyes just enough to gaze at him through her lashes. “You didn’t like it?” As she asks the question, she sends a brush of magic— _her_ magic, settling over his skin, heightening his senses, brushing against his cock. She has yet to figure out how to conjure a magical tongue or cock, like the kind he had used on her for their first night. But until that day comes, this was the next best thing.

Solas sucks in a breath between his teeth at the sensation, fingers curling into the tops of her arms, and her dress slips from his grasp. It slides down her body like water, pooling at her feet and leaving her only in her heels. Evelyn steps out of the circle of her dress, bringing Solas’s head down and sucking his lower lip into her mouth. He groans, hands skirting down her back to grip her ass. As she tastes him, he brings her hips forward, pressing her flush against his arousal.

Evelyn pulls back, and when he moves to follow her, she presses a single finger to his mouth. He kisses it, eyes heavy-lidded and dark as he gazes at her, and a bolt of warmth shoots down her spine to pool between her legs. Maintaining eye contact, he kneels, his fingertips dancing down her shaved legs with a feather-light touch. Evelyn shivers and leans against the banister for support as he kisses the crease between thigh and hip, reaching for her left heel.

“May I?” he asks, and she nods. He carefully pulls off the shoe, his thumb pressing against the arch of her bare foot. She sighs despite herself, toes flexing at the sharp relief. Solas looks up at her and winds a hand under her knee, lifting it slightly so he can press a soft, open-mouthed kiss against the tender flesh just above her knee. 

“Are you trying to seduce me?” she asks, breathy despite herself. Solas grins against her skin, and lowers her bare leg, turning his attentions to her right.

“Is it working?” he inquires, as he gives her right foot the same treatment, down to the kiss above the knee. Evelyn licks her lips, choosing not to answer. Solas winds his hands behind her waist and pulls her forward, resting his head against the gentle outward curve of her stomach.

For a long moment, he is stationary, kneeling before her and breathing in. Evelyn cups the back of his head, soon moving her hand to brush down and skim over his shoulder. He shivers at her touch, his fingers spasming against her back, and slowly tilts his head back to look at her. After a long moment, he rises to his feet.

“Okay?” she asks. When he nods, her smile turns into something decidedly more impish. “Bed, Solas,” she purrs, pushing away from the railing. Without taking his eyes off of her, he backs up until his knees hit the mattress, and sits.

She approaches him, trailing her fingers over his jawline, and smiles as he leans into her touch. She opens the drawer on the bedside table, taking out a smooth ring of cold metal. Solas’s breath catches at the sight of it. She warms it in her hands, first, before straddling his lap and kissing him breathless.

When they break apart for air, Solas twists his body and lays flat on the bed, his thumbs hooking under his leggings. She watches him kick them off, her mouth going dry at the sight of his cock, hard and flushed, a drop of precome beading from the slit. “You are so _pretty_ ,” she breathes. Solas laughs, affection warming his gaze when he looks at her. Evelyn has gotten used to that look in his eye, adjusted to his softer expressions, despite the unease that twists in her gut.

Men who had looked at her like that in the Circle always lived to regret it, after the Knight Commander found out.

 _But the Knight Commander isn’t here_ , she tells herself, and grins at Solas as she holds it before him. He half-smiles at her before he takes the ring, his tongue flicking out and coating the entire thing in saliva.

When it is slick enough that it will not chafe against him, she winks at him as she slips the ring over his length. Solas inhales sharply as it tightens at the base, trapping the blood and any chance of release. “You were serious,” he says, voice gone breathy and rough from arousal.

“When am I not?” she asks, and the look he gives her—heady, dark-eyed, _hungry_ —makes her cunt clench. She captures his mouth again, rewarding him with biting kisses that make him strain toward her, framing her hips between his hands. His fingers glide up the curve of her waist, then cup the round swells of her breasts, thumbs flicking over her nipples and making her shiver. He teases them until the soft pink of them flushes deeper, and they tighten to hard peaks. Evelyn gasps when he captures one in his mouth, tongue swirling over sensitive flesh, and slings a leg over his hip. She grinds her clit against his hipbone, relishing in the delicious friction, but finds the strength to pull away before she can crest.

He reaches for her, again, but she straddles him properly this time, the wet heat of her sex settled over his cock, and grabs his wrists. “No,” she whispers to him, kissing the tender skin of his inner wrists before pinning them on either side of his head. Solas swallows hard as she begins to slowly rock against him, her slick folds surrounding his cock but not in the way he surely wants. As she continues, not bothering to hide her sounds of pleasure at the feel of her clit riding the ridge of him, his breaths turn heavy, and soon he is sucking air between his teeth. His hands turn toward the pillow under his head and clutch until they are white-knuckled.

“Good,” she whispers. The praise makes him shudder underneath her, his cock twitching. Evelyn arches an eyebrow, continuing her slow, deliberate grind, but Solas clenches his jaw and says nothing. The only sign of his arousal is his labored breathing, and the flush underneath his skin from the tips of his ears down his pretty throat.

This is their game. He feigns composure, and she breaks it down, piece by piece, until he is ragged at the edges and desperate for her.

Evelyn leans down, her teeth worrying at his pulsepoint, not hard enough to leave a mark, but Solas gasps as if she’s swirled her tongue around his cock. One hand threads through her hair, but she pulls it away, pinning it to the mattress and stilling her hips. Solas groans, loud and almost lewd, and ruts against her, as if he cannot help himself.

Evelyn sits up, grinning down at him. She gathers more magic in her palms, a warm, buzzing energy, and smoothes her hands down his torso, undeterred when he begins to shudder at the sensation.

Solas twists underneath her, tremors wracking through him until every muscle quivers. Evelyn grins at the pleasure on his face, and takes him in hand, her thumb brushing against the spot underneath the head of him that makes him—

Solas cries out, not in pleasure nor in pain but in startled surprise, a sound she has never heard from him before. “ _Stop_ ,” he gasps, and she does, pulling her hand away and looking at him, worry cooling her arousal. He reaches for her hand, kissing her palm, and shakes his head. “It is alright. I was—too sensitive, for a moment. The spell was too much.”

“Oh, shit, sorry,” she says, glancing down.

“What—” he pauses, catching his breath, his thumb pressing against the center of her palm. “What were you trying to accomplish?”

“I don’t know.” She makes a frustrated noise. “I mean, my goal was to heighten your senses but not enough to make it painful. Like—like what you did before I left for the desert.”

 _That_ had been fun. She’d been sore the entire ride to the Western Approach.

Solas’s eyebrows lift with understanding, followed by a soft “ah” of comprehension. “In that case. You must be subtle about such magics.”

Evelyn bites her lip, lowering her torso until her nipples drag against his chest. She lazily bites his lip, sucking it into her mouth before pulling away. She brushes her nose against his cheek and breathes, “Solas, are you saying I’m not subtle?”

Solas laughs, shivering when her fingertips run up his arms to entwine with his hands. “There are many words I would use to describe you, Evie, but _subtle_ is not one of them.”

“Aw, babe, I’m hurt.” Evelyn sits up, moving his hands to her hips. He drags his touch up her back, then trails it to the softness of her thighs, before settling on her ass. “Still sensitive?”

“Ah—no, not to such an extent.” She grins down at him, cupping the underside of his cock to keep it steady as she slides it against her, coating his skin with her slick. Solas gasps, his neck arching, eyes fluttering. His cock twitches in her hand, and when she circles the velvet skin of him, his whole body moves with his shiver.

“Great. In that case. Tell me how to do the thing.”

“The—the thing?” Solas asks, dazed, biting his lip when she rubs against him. He may not be sensitive to the point of pain any longer, but he is certainly… distracted. Evelyn laughs, dipping down to lick at his nipples. He groans, clutching at her ass; not directing her movements, simply reacting to them.

“The thing you did before I left for the desert.”

“Yes. Of course.” He directs her, calm despite the rasp of desire that roughens his voice, and soon enough she is using the spell correctly, using it carefully enough to ratchet up his arousal but not enough to cause hypersensitivity. Soon, he is trembling beneath her, arching at every touch, sweat glistening on his forehead and chest and Evelyn thinks—

Well, she thinks he’s beautiful, for one, but she also thinks she’s done enough teasing. Neither one of them has come yet; she’s been having too much fun with Solas to focus on herself.

She has him hold the pillow again, before guiding his cock to her entrance. She’s so wet that she takes all of him in one smooth roll of her hips, clenching around his cock and making him _moan_ ; a loud, utterly obscene sound that sets fire to her nerves.

“You like that?” she whispers, breathless. Solas nods, attempting to catch his breath, and his throat bobs in a swallow. Evelyn squeezes her cunt again and Solas bucks into her, hard enough to take her by surprise. She moves for a better angle and takes him deeper and—oh, _fuck_ , that’s—that’s—

Her vision goes a little fuzzy, but she pushes back her orgasm, not ready to come, not yet, not when his cock has been inside her for all of three seconds. He’d be insufferable afterwards, the beautiful man. She focuses everything she has on not tumbling over that cliff, but her efforts are too late. A shudder still ripples down her spine, and the hot shock of an orgasm washes through her, making her toes curl into the sheets.

Solas is smirking.

Damn it.

“Shut up,” she pants, waiting for the surprise of her unexpected mini-orgasm to wear off.

“I said nothing.”

“Yeah, yeah, you didn’t need to.” His smirk widens, at that, and she rolls her eyes before dipping down to kiss him once more. There’s still a tension in her muscles, a tight heat between her legs that has yet to dissipate despite her smallest of deaths. She breaks the kiss and braces herself on his chest, dragging herself up until the tip of his cock rests just inside her. She takes a breath, ignoring the finite quiver in her muscles, and lowers herself onto him just as he thrusts into her.

She takes it slow, until they establish a rhythm, then begins to ride him hard. Solas’s hands roam all over her body—smoothing down her back, gripping her ass, teasing her nipples until she gasps his name—but he abandons touching her in favor of throwing an arm over his face when she presses more magic into his skin. His alternate hand blindly seeks the bedsheets and clutches, white-knuckled, and for a moment she fears he’ll tear the bedsheets.

Despite the arm, he cannot muffle his sounds of pleasure—every gasp, every whimper, every moan—fuck, every rasp of her name pushes her closer.

“Close yet?” she asks, grinning down at him.

“Evie—” the arm over his face lifts, hand reaching for the headboard above him and holding on with a white-knuckled desperation. His head falls back, eyes screwing shut. “Please—Ev— _ah!_ ” His voice breaks when she clenches her cunt as hard as she can, and a tremor rips through him, muscles jumping under her touch. His cock pulses hotly within her, an orgasm without the sweet relief of release, and the feeling makes her suck in a breath. In a heartbeat, one of her hands moves from his chest to her sex. She massages her clit with her middle finger, her ring and index fingers parting her folds. Her harsh breaths make Solas open his eyes, dark and hungry, and his gaze latches on her cunt.

Her free fingertips brush against his lips, and with a harsh noise, he sucks them into his mouth, curling his tongue around her fingers.

She arches her back, reaching for her release, so close—she can _feel_ it, feel the pressure gathering between her thighs, coiling hotly in the pit of her stomach. “Suh—” she says, eyes fluttering shut as she rides him, her hips shifting forward, seeking _more_ from her slick-stained fingers. She circles her clit harder, gasping his name as lightning begins to spark at the tips of her fingers. “Solas—”

Solas thrusts into her, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside her. Without prompting, he brushes his hands over the swells of her breasts, nimble fingers plucking at the tight, sensitive peaks. That final shock of sensation is her undoing. White stars burst behind her eyes as she comes, shuddering, her thighs closing instinctively and squeezing against the hard plane of his body. She bows over him, shaking, some string pulled too tight snapping within her, _fuckfuckfuck_ —her trembling arms give out and she rests her head on his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat as she catches her breath, coming down from her high.

Her cunt pulses around him in an aftershock. Solas does not stifle his groan at the feeling; his fingers comb through sweaty hair and tuck it behind her ear. He whispers her name, but she doesn’t look up until most of the aftershocks have passed. He’s still hard within her, a delicious sensation of fullness she is near addicted to, and the reminder of the ring around his length makes her grin.

She sits up, her nails scratching down his sides, leaving red streaks in their wake. He hisses at that, back arching, and she laughs. “Like that, don’t you,” she breathes, “a little bit of pain.”

“I like—” She licks at one of his nipples, carefully gathering a small amount of magic in her palms. When she brushes it over his skin, Solas throws an arm over his face again, bucking into her, his controlled thrusts fraying into something more desperate. “Small marks,” he manages, roughly, voice more rasp than words. “To remember.”

She laughs, fingers curling around his bicep and pulling his arm down. “I see. Does that include hickeys?” She breathes the words over the corner of his mouth, her lips drifting across the apple of his cheek to press against a spot just under his jaw.

Solas’s breath catches. “I—”

“The Orlesians would see it. Everyone would know, but they wouldn’t _know_ ,” she says. It’s a clumsy delivery, but Solas seems to know what she means. He swallows, the apple of his throat bobbing, his fingers curling up the backs of her thighs. His hips twitch, an attempt to get her to move, but she only smiles against his skin before sucking a bruise into his neck.

“Wicked woman,” he says, raggedly, his thumbs moving over her skin. She laughs when she’s satisfied with her work, gently capturing his earlobe between her teeth.

“You haven’t seen wicked yet,” she retorts, sitting up and lifting her arms to gather her hair. She arches her back as she does so, putting her breasts on full display. Solas makes a desperate noise, sitting up and wrapping his arms around her, pulling her flush against him as he peppers her chest in wet, biting kisses.

She puts her hands on his shoulders, gasping at the attention he laves upon her nipples, and begins to move in earnest—merciless swivels of her hips, broken every so often by her cunt squeezing him. “So earlier,” she says, conversationally, smiling when she clenches down. Solas gives a hoarse cry, a tremble working through him as he rests his forehead against her sternum, fingers flexing against her back. “Earlier, you came, didn’t you? But you didn’t spend.”

“Ah—” his eyes are glazed when he lifts his head, nearly unseeing with pleasure. “Perhaps. Yes. It is—not as enjoyable as a true completion, but still— _ah_ —pleasurable.”

“Hmm. Can you do it again?”

He swallows, then nods, bracing his hands on her hips as he lays back once more. Evelyn works him up until he is shaking beneath her, his voice hoarse from his cries. Stubborn ass that he is, she gets him to come once more without spending, but even then he refuses to ask. The closest is just after she’s come on his cock a second time, when he licks his lips and gasps, “Evie—please—I need—I—”

He stops, eyes falling closed, sweat beading along his brow. Evelyn increases her efforts. Her magic, her touch, her cunt are more than enough to have him almost unraveled beneath her. _Almost_. “What do you need, Solas?” she purrs.

“I—” his eyes roll back, lids fluttering, mouth falling open, and she traces the open _o_  of his lips with a fingertip. “Please—let me—”

The door opens.

“Inquisitor?” Jim asks.

For a second, the world stops as she registers what’s just happened.

Jim is here.

Jim. Here. Right now.

“What the fuck,” she mouths, freezing in place. Solas’s cock is still inside her, but just barely. She remains awkwardly perched above him, just waiting for Jim to clear the stairs and see her like this. Solas’s grip on her waist tightens, and his eyes widen, the haze of lust clearing from them as he recognizes the intruder. “Uh, Jim? That you?”

“Yes, it’s me, Your Worship,” he says.

Fuck. Shit. Fucking shit. _Why did Jim keep doing this._ She’d forgotten he was supposed to—Maker _damn_ it.  She hears footsteps on the steps, and laughs, a bit hysterical. Solas had been so close and Jim interrupted.

“For fuck’s sake,” she says, under her breath, and louder, calls, “Jim, please don’t—I’m, uh—bathing. Right. Bathing. Right now. Sorry. I forgot you were supposed to be dropping by.”

“Oh, Maker, Inquisitor, I’m sorry, I thought—” Very deliberately, Solas’s hands drift from her waist to her ass, and pulls her down as he slowly thrusts into her. The languid stretch of it makes her breath catch, and she looks down at him. When she mouths _keep going?_ to him, his eyes darken and he nods, silent.

Maker, she loved this man.

Just a little bit.

Slowly, deliberately, she begins to ride him again. With a quick glance at the stairs—Jim hadn’t reached the top of the staircase, thank the Maker for small miracles—she calls out, “Sorry, Jim, what was that?”

“It’s just that I have the report about your family. They agreed to stop using the Inquisition for personal gain, but they want you to negotiate a feud between two branches of the family.”

“Uh—” She lifts her hips just enough that Solas’s cock slides out of her, then traps his length between his belly and her cunt, grinding her clit against him. She’ll have to take care not to get over-sensitive, but for now the friction feels _perfect_. “Which branches? Auntie Gertrude and her cousin or— _ah_ —someone else?”

“No, it’s between a Lady Brianna and a Lord Eddard.”

Who?

Evelyn makes a face. “I’ve never heard of these people,” she whispers to Solas, too low for Jim to hear. Solas reaches up and swipes his thumb across her lips, and she playfully nips at him, drawing a sharp breath from her lover.

Jim pauses, and Evelyn hears the thunder of her heartbeat in her ears. “Apparently Lord Eddard insulted Lady Brianna’s milch cows at a harvest ball, within the lady’s hearing, and now the two branches cannot look upon one another in Ostwick without fighting.”

What the hell was a milch cow? Some kind of… exotic breed?

“Mhm. What—” She bites her lip to keep herself silent, but cannot stop her gasp at the delicious pressure on her clit. Her eyelids flutter, before she catches herself. “Um, what’s the Council’s advice?”

Jim’s pause this time is even longer. “Are… are you well, Your Worship?”

“Currently wet as a fish, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I just slipped in the bath, don’t worry, Jim.” Solas’s eyes go wide, and he grabs a pillow, crushing it over his face. His shoulders shake with the force of his silent laughter, though his mirth is soon cut off when she slides down his body to take his cock into her mouth. One of his hands turns white-knuckled into the pillow, and the other reaches down, threading through her hair to cup the back of her head. When her tongue travels the length of him, from root to tip, Solas moans her name, his hips bucking.

She hears it through the pillow, and stiffens, dread washing through her. Jim was in the middle of his explanation, to which she had been paying minimal attention, but at the sound of Solas’s pleasure he stops talking. Solas lowers the pillow, looking minimally contrite. Mostly he looks even more aroused, as if he doesn’t care about the fact that Jim almost certainly heard him.

Fuck.

“Um,” says Jim. Evelyn closes her eyes, resting her cheek on Solas’s thigh. Her lover strokes her hair, as if that will ever erase the knowledge that Jim has overheard her having sex. She can hear the scout shifting his weight, just on the other side of the staircase’s stone banister. “Is this… uh. Is this a bad time, Your Worship?”

Evelyn closes her eyes and counts to ten. “Actually, yes. This is a terrible time, Jim. I’ll talk to Josephine about my wayward family members, thank you,” she calls back.

Jim flees. When the door shuts behind him, she lifts her head and levels Solas with a wry look. “He heard you,” she says, sealing her lips over him. Solas moans, bucking up into her mouth, his hands fisting into her hair. She licks him clean of her slick and his own arousal, works him up until he is shaking with his need again.

But it is only when she gets her fingers vibrating with electricity and around his length that he finally breaks.

“Evie—please—” he gasps, followed by a noise that sounds perilously close to a sob. “ _Please_ —”

“Please what, Solas?” she purrs, massaging a gently vibrating finger over his sac as she presses kisses to the plush head of him.

“Please let me come,” he asks, straining toward her. He brushes her hair out of her face with shaking fingers. His blush has spread down to his navel. “Please let me—please—”

She drags herself up his body, pressing a chaste kiss to his open mouth. “Since you asked so sweetly,” she says, her lips pressed against the corner of his mouth. He arches, fucking the tunnel her curved palm provides, and his breath breaks when she pushes down on his hips with her free hand, stilling his ragged, desperate thrusts. “How would you like to come?” she asks. “In my cunt? In my mouth? My hand?”

“Anywhere, just— _please!_ I need—” he breaks off with a half-sob, chest heaving, utterly unraveled. Utterly hers.

She kisses her way down his chest, settling between his splayed, trembling thighs. A muscle in his leg twitches when she drags her nails down his skin. Solas groans at the sensation, throwing an arm over his face again. “Solas,” she says, softly, “sweet, you’ve done so well. You were so good.” She carefully slides the ring off of him, and his free hand searches out hers. She intertwines their fingers as she takes him into her mouth. He comes with a shudder, gripping her hand as he spills down her throat. She swallows down all of him, and when she pulls away a line of intermingled spit and seed quivers between her mouth and his flushed cock.

She carefully joins him on the bed, facing him, and waits for him to catch his breath. His arm is still covering his face, but after several moments of quiet, he lowers it. His gaze meets hers, and she offers a smile. “Okay?” she asks, propping herself onto an elbow.

Solas looks dazed. “I… yes,” he says. “Very much so.”

Evelyn laughs, brushing her hair over her shoulder so she can kiss his forehead without her hair getting in his face. “Good.” She rolls off the bed, padding toward the washbasin behind her changing divider. She warms the water in the basin, then soaks the cleaning rag in it and wrings it out. As she cleans herself, she says, “Need anything? I can get some late night snacks sent up real fast.”

“No, thank you.” She douses and wrings out the cloth again. When she emerges behind the divider to see him carefully sitting up, she tosses him the rag and picks up the book he’d been reading. Something about Fade physics, she doesn’t know.

Evelyn likes burning things. Not debating how, precisely, the Fade can support floating chunks of rock.

She tucks the Treatise on Fade-y Science under her arm and grabs her copy of _Hard in Hightown_. When she has her readings, she joins Solas once more, snuggling under the covers and handing over his book. He thanks her with a kiss to her hair; she beams at him and flops onto her stomach, opening to where she’d last left off.

Solas summons magelights to assist in their reading. Evelyn settles down, sighing as she allows herself to be absorbed into _Hard in Hightown_. After a while, Solas puts his book aside and reclines beside her, his fingertips tracing aimless patterns over her skin. Evelyn looks away from her book to flash him a crooked grin. “Want another round?” she offers, teasing. Solas smiles, but shakes his head.

“I simply wished to watch you read,” he says, in a soft voice that makes her traitor heart flutter.

“Oh. Okay.” She turns back to the book, but doesn’t absorb any words. After a short while she marks her place and reaches over to put the novel on her bedside table. She turns onto her side, reaching for him, and Solas entwines their fingers. “We really need to start locking doors, by the way. I don’t think Jim will ever look me in the eye again.”

Solas laughs, a warm, throaty chuckle that ends on a soft snort. “Agreed,” he says, turning their joined hands to kiss the backs of her knuckles. “I will be sure to do so next time.”

Evelyn waggles her eyebrows. “Next time, huh?”

“If you’ve no objections.” Solas draws closer, his hand pulling from hers to tuck some of her hair behind her ear. His fingertips linger on the curve of it for a heartbeat before he looks back at her.

“Funny, I’ve got none,” she says. Solas laughs again, his eyes crinkling in the corners, and closes the space between them, his hands threading through her hair. Evelyn closes her eyes and lets herself be drawn in.

Right.

Next time they’ll lock the doors.


End file.
